Some of you have probably noticed that I started a new blog. I know. So much fanfare from this self-professed diva, you could just die, right?

I meant to write about this a long time ago. But this week? Yeah, this week has been kickin’ my old backside. And it’s a broad target, but still, OUCH!

So, here I am, at the end of yet another week. How did it get to be Friday, again? And I thought I’d take a few moments to explain myself. In a world where more and more people are blogging in 140 and Facebook status reports, I’m expanding. I’m making space and living into the extravagance of thinking you really want to read MORE of me.

Ok, I kid a little. But I am making space. Lately I’ve been feeling cramped on Evidently. Second guessing every post, wishing I could just write what I’m thinking without looking over my shoulder.

The thing is, I’ve never thought of Evidently as a vehicle to support or promote Mireio. It has always been, and remains so, a practice in seeing beauty. When asked how I keep at it year after year, the answer is as complex as it is simple, “Evidently is a spiritual discipline.” Because I know that I will need to blog, I pay attention to the beauty that is in my life. I’m going to report back to you—and I can’t come empty handed. It’s just not done in my world.

Once again, it’s May Day. Once again, my beloved lilac trees have refused to cooperate with my timing. Still in bud form, we’re probably two weeks from bloom. It’s sad, really—I had plans. Beautiful bouquets to deliver and traditions to uphold. Â But then, I always have plans. I’m consoling myself with this lilac infested header IZ put up for me last night. I’m liking the new look!

Some of those plans included blogging this week—and blogging about blogging! I have a lot to say, really. I’m just finding it hard to find the words. This week marks the beginning of my 8th year blogging. I’ll pause to let you take that in. Yep! I’ve been at this since 2002 (and a year before that on a funky MSN community page!) Â I had every intention of celebrating this moment with you. But it didn’t happen, did it?Â

I will confess, I’ve been a bit preoccupied. I cannot keep my store stocked. That’s a good thing; but in addition to Mireio, I’ve been in my yard digging trenches. People, let me tell you, that’s a work-out. We are busy digging so that an electrician can come and replace the old lines. Lines, for the record, that were only buried 6″ deep and totally exposed. I shuddered when I discovered it.Â

New lines should come in next week—and that means new lighting to the front yard! I’m pretty excited about that as it also means I’ll now be powered to go all Grizwald at the holidays. New lighting has put us to the task of pulling out even more old growth specimens. It’s been a stunning discovery to find these massive bushes have root structures leading 20 feet out. It’s no wonder my retaining wall is starting to show stress and the concrete walkway is crumbling.Â

Out they went.Â There is something soÂ therapeuticÂ about demolition.Â It’s cathartic, if exhausting! Â Of course, I uncovered the lamppost and decided it needed replacing. That’s how it works, right. One project leads to another. Â Lather, rinse, repeat.Â

I hope you’ll forgive me for not blogging this week. The yard work has been all consuming, leaving me little energy to actually write! But, Â I do have some things to say about the whole endeavor of writing for the universe and what I’ve learned from the exercise. (As well as exploring where I want to go in the next year) But that will have to wait, dear friends. Â However,Â Â I would be remiss to completely neglect this moment in my blogging life. And if you’ve read this whole thing, you deserve to be rewarded! Â

In honor of 7 fabulous years of blogging and all the amazing connections I’ve made—and to mark the beginning of a New Year, I’m having a little give away.

In just the past month I’ve sold at least 10 Spa and Travel pillows. They’re a hot item at Mireio—and I thought you might like a chance to win one from my newest line. Filled with fragrant lavender and uber cushy buckwheat hulls, these pillows are divine. And people are raving, go see my feedback! This fabric is vintage 1940′s California Handprint cotton and it’s STUNNING! Anyhow, I’m giving away a spa pillow made in this limited edition fabric (the one pictured is actually listed for sale, but the fabric pattern is identical!). All you have to do is comment! (and if you don’t want it for you—Ahem, Mother’s Day is right around the corner!)

I’ll draw a winner and announce it on Monday, 4 May. Â Until then, I’m going to do laundry. My neglectful ways always seem to include blogging and laundry. Â I’d promise to be better about both in the future—but I think we all know what happens to my plans.Â

I’m feeling a bit under pressure lately. It’s all internal, mind you.Â There are no thugs hanging at my door wanting explanations as to where my payment is. Yet, I’m feeling the pinch, the squeeze, the. . . why I am running out of overused expressions? I watch all those CSI, Law and Order, good guy wears blue shows. This is pitiful. Oh bother, fill in your own.

There is a process to my panic and it looks like this. First, I freeze in fear and assume the “deer in headlight” pose. Being a Californian, I assume the position beneath the nearest hard surface I can find. Wide eyed and frightened–withdrawn and silent.Â I don’t blog this part of the journey, because it’s hard to type beneath the dining room table.

From there I move on to “The sky is falling” phase. I pace back and forth, waving hands in the air, repetitively driving IZ to distraction, “Oh dear, oh dear! What ever will I do?” Not blogging this part either! But this is a choice driven by vanity. I’m cool, collected, and I got my stuff together. That’s my story. . .

Whatever indeed! Eventually, IZ gets bored with my constant self- analysis and I realize it’s time to take control of the situation. Therapy by boredom. When your friends start yawning, you’re cured. You know who you are. . . YAWN.

Ahem, so in a “use every cliche I can muster move” I finally summon up all my courage and “pull myself up by my bootstraps” to craft a plan.

Typically, if I’m feeling under pressure it’s because I’m over extended. I’ve taken on too much without a real plan to juggle it all. A plan. . . I’m not so hot with planning. I’m delusional enough to believe I don’t really need one, until I find myself in a dither–procrastinating out of fear and obsessing over pointless details.Â I could avoid all this unnecessary drama if only I’d be a bit more organized.Â You may all laugh hysterically here.

So, I have a plan. A plan to redeem my sanity, a plan to regain my composure. And it means letting go of a few things. I’m going to put the plan beneath a fold. Those of you who know me, know that this entire post has just been me working up to WRITING the plan out. Putting it under makes it a bit easier for me to accept. Hey! Just because it’s not rational doesn’t mean it can’t work! Ooh, triple negative! Do I get extra points for that like in Scrabble? Read the rest of this entry »

On this last day of January, “The Monday of the Year*”, I’m sitting with all the potential change in my life. And I find it easily overwhelming when I start paying attention to the perpetual loop eight-tracks in my mind whispering fear.

We all get that change is difficult. It’s part of the human condition, we hang on to things. Perhaps longer than we should. Perhaps longer than I should. I stash away paraphernalia from my past, bits and pieces of potential.Â Piles of fabric in my studio that will be something, eventually.Â The first line of several novels. Th first paragraph of hundreds of posts. Projects I always mean to finish, but never really begin. Relationships that will get better, if given just one more chance. Associations out of obligation, participation out of nostalgia, connections to a former self best left in the past. The boxes of my life are filled with debris; marked “fragile” as if writing out those letters imports some meaning. I’ve not been ready to let go of any of it, even the harmful bits.Â That’s what the voices on the eight-track whisper, “You are not ready.”

Although, I know better.Â Beneath the din, in what quiet I can muster, there is a self that knows better. I am ready.

I am letting go of small things first. Clearing space, making room, determining what of the debris really is worth hanging on to forever. It’s surprising how much you just don’t need. And I’ll let you in on a little secret, letting go. . .Yeah,Â it’s not as scary as you might think. In fact, it can be downright liberating if you let go of the right things.Â The voices in our heads that peddle fear and shame need not be the loudest! They are obsolete liars that only have power if we believe them. It’s not an issue of drowning out the noise. It’s an issue of letting go. And if you can take a little advice from the girl who keeps everything, start by tossing outÂ that perpetual taped loop in your head that tells you change is “Scary”.

*January is the Monday of the Year was borrowed from the lovely Bethany! Go read! Be inspired.

I love this photo, even if it is completely disingenuous. Looking at it, you might think that blue skies have arrived here in the northwest, but that wouldn’t be true. Instead, we got a rare sun-break Sunday. Long enough for IZ to mow our lumpy yard despite his head cold. Long enough for me look busy snapping photos instead of weeding our overgrown flower beds. But not long enough to fool anyone into thinking warmth is on its way. Certainly not long enough to get me out of my funk. I’m waiting, Spring. And I don’t like to wait. Margaret was right to dub this month Junuary!

Anyhow, I don’t have much to say. Vicki dropped by to tell me to update and now she’s taunting me with the backsides of Sun Bears on her site. OH THE IRONY. As I’m a compliant first born, I tend to do what I’m told—especially when told by an authority figure. I’ll let her explain what makes her the boss of me, because I sure as heck don’t know! So, I’m blogging about our cold weather and the lack of sun. And she’s visually cracking wise about her weather. I resent that, darling. I DO!

Except I don’t. I adore Sun Bears. I adore the sun. I adore the BEARS. And Stanford sucks. Ahem.

So, this photo… I was trying to snap a photo of a mysterious Columbine that sprouted up in my front planter. I didn’t plant it. I suspect renegade vermin poop. I figure, if deer are going to munch the heads off all my flowers, it seems only fitting that they might plant something in return. It’s a small gift and since this town won’t let me hunt inside city limits, it’s going to have to do.

This Columbine is magical. It’s really dainty and delicate but difficult to photograph. In desperation, I shoved my lens beneath it and snapped the photo. The flower, obviously, blurred. And it’s apparent that I need to prune our variegated willow. But that sky. . . that sky sings to me. And for a moment, you know, I almost thought I had found a patch of blue to carry me. But it didn’t last. I fell into the grasp of a capricious lover and knew rejection. Grey skies have returned and I’ve been compelled to put on socks. I hate socks. Spring will not stop toying with me.

Summer, on the other hand, is tender. She is kind and she caring. Warm and benevolent. She takes her time. She doesn’t rush anything, savoring every moment. She sings bird song and smells of jasmine. She doesn’t blow down houses or flood plains. She never toys with your emotions. You know just where you stand with her. Lovingly embraced, adored, appreciated. In her eyes, you are always beautiful with your brown toes sticking out of your sandals. And even though you know this love you share will not last forever, it doesn’t matter. You’re not thinking about that, anyhow. You’re too warm to care. Too happy to notice. Too content, if that’s possible.

Summer is tender. But I fear she is going to be late this year. I fear she wandered off to some tropical local and cannot be bothered to return. I fear she is cavorting with some other lover, some other person who always looks beautiful—their brown toes sticking out of their sandals.

Itty bitty glitch on the site. Ok, it’s a bigger glitch than that. But we’re going to pretend otherwise. Apparently, all your lovely comments are going directly to my spam filter. Some of your comments are gone forever, since it I just noticed the glitch.

Anyhow, until I get this figured out, it may take a few hours before your comment will post since I have to trudge through hundreds of spam to find you. I feel dirty already. Your other option is to not post. But that would make me sad.

For the rest of you who aren’t anonymous: I guess this should have been the 7th bullet point on that last post; because I’ve been laughing all night. People never cease to amaze me—even the crazy ones. Blessings to you all… back to normalcy tomorrow. Feel free to run amok in the comment section.